


inarticulate store-bought hangover hobby kit

by cuttothequickk



Series: makedamnsure [5]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Because they're too drunk, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Drunken Flirting, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Purging, Showers, Tequila, Throwing up in the shower, Vomiting, anyways yeah this is trash, because that's a thing that happens when you're drunk sometimes, okay this got away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 05:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttothequickk/pseuds/cuttothequickk
Summary: Izaya is almost too breathless to speak, but he manages a nod and tries to lighten his grip at Shizuo’s shoulders, the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. He can feel his mouth quirking in an involuntary smile to match Shizuo’s, and he doesn’t even try to fight it.“See? Alcohol is a drug—drugs do make it better,” Izaya says, smirking.Shizuo shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, looking confident and stunning in the light from the moon filtering down into the alley. “Nah, it’s like this every time.”





	inarticulate store-bought hangover hobby kit

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this series turned into trash but pls enjoy while I burn in hell~~~

They end up at a seedy bar operated by some of Izaya’s yakuza associates. It’s past eleven, and the bar is crowded with well-muscled men and their model-thin girlfriends, some of whom are probably being paid to be here, but the atmosphere in the room is lively and fun, everyone ranging from tipsy to completely trashed, and Izaya fits right in with the buzz going on in his skull, the whole room a little bit dizzy in a pleasantly disoriented spin. Shizuo is on the bar stool next to him, his eyes wide and bright with the effects of the sake they’ve shared, crinkled at the corners from the grin that hasn’t left his face for at least a half-hour now.

 

Izaya can’t help but grin back, lifting his near-empty glass to finish off the final swallow. It’s late, but they haven’t really had that much to drink yet, just enough to turn the lights a little brighter, to fuel heat into the embers that seem to always rest between them, now, and Izaya glances back behind the bar and gets an idea.

 

“Let’s do shots,” he says, turning back to Shizuo so he can see the way the blond’s eyebrows raise, his expression losing a bit of its radiance as if he doesn’t take this decision lightly. And maybe he shouldn’t; after all, what had started out as another fight (because Izaya had disappeared for a week and a half and Shizuo thought it was unfair of him not to mention anything about leaving and that was so rude and Shizuo absolutely wasn’t worried about him, don’t be ridiculous, flea—) turned into the suggestion of dinner at Russia Sushi to make up for Izaya’s _transgression~_ and that turned into an agreement that a post-dinner drink wouldn’t be the worst thing they could do, especially if Izaya was buying.

 

One drink—that’s all it was supposed to be. Or, at least, that’s how Izaya had framed it when he’d asked, and Shizuo had agreed, but now Izaya is changing the playing field, because a couple of glasses of sake with an enemy-cum—what? Lover? Fuck buddy? Whatever, Izaya thinks—is different from doing shots, especially because neither of them really drinks all that much and this is probably heading down a dangerous road, but then again, Izaya thinks, they were probably headed that direction anyways. This will just get them there a little faster.

 

“Okay,” Shizuo says, pulling Izaya from his thoughts, and Shizuo’s mouth isn’t uncertain anymore; there’s no confusion in his brow. He’s smirking, actually, and Izaya feels a shudder run through him as Shizuo lifts a hand to call the bartender and ask for two shots of tequila, the bartender nodding and setting out a salt shaker and two lime wedges before pouring them each a shot. Shizuo drops cash on the table and picks up his glass, the bartender nodding his thanks and moving off to help the next customer, and Izaya lifts his shot glass with the delicate grace that he knows Shizuo likes and stares at honey-brown eyes, a smirk on his lips.

 

“Ready?” Shizuo asks, his voice as low as it can be while still being audible in the loud bar, low enough that Izaya almost more reads it across Shizuo’s lips than hears it, and Izaya feels his heart quicken slightly and gives a nod.

 

“What are we drinking to?” Izaya asks, never breaking eye contact. Shizuo bites his lip and Izaya wants to push him up against the bar and replace those teeth with his own. He manages to suppress a shiver.

 

“To getting really fucking drunk with your worst enemy,” Shizuo says, and Izaya feels the words like a spear through his chest, albeit a spear that strikes heat and delirium more than pain.

 

“Oh really? We’re getting really fucking drunk now?” Izaya asks, voice a little more breathless than he wants it to be. Shizuo definitely notices, his smirk widening.

 

“That’s the part of the toast that you’re going to question?” Shizuo asks, leaning in a little more and dropping the hand not holding his shot to rest on Izaya’s thigh. They’ve had just enough alcohol to dull the pretenses between them, to strike honesty through words that would normally be twisted up with denial and deceit, and Izaya shifts forward on his stool to be closer to Shizuo and raises an eyebrow, wondering what they must look like to everyone else in the bar—a tall blond monster and a pale dark-haired devil, leaning towards each other with the casual intimacy Izaya’s only ever seen on long-time lovers.

 

Izaya bites his lip and shrugs. “I only suggested shots, Shizu-chan,” he murmurs, the low pitch of his voice encouraging Shizuo’s nearness. “Is a single shot too much for the monster of Ikebukuro?”

 

Shizuo growls and looks right into Izaya’s eyes. “You said ‘shots.’ I know you well enough to know you don’t do shots unless you want to get really fucking drunk.”

 

“You said ‘worst enemies,’” Izaya parrots. “I know you well enough to know you don’t tell lies in order to get me to tell you what the truth is.” Izaya pauses for dramatic effect. “Or do you, Shizu-chan? Are you intentionally misrepresenting our relationship just so that I’ll tell you we’re not enemies anymore, Shizuo?”

 

Shizuo’s eyes narrow. “Let’s just do the goddamn shots,” he bites out, his mouth turning down into the scowl Izaya is used to, the one he used to always wear in Izaya’s presence. Izaya grins.

 

“Yes. Let’s.”

 

Izaya makes a show of licking the inside of his wrist, watching as Shizuo’s eyes darken. Izaya’s breath catches in his throat. He sprinkles salt across the line of saliva and holds his shot glass in that hand, the lime resting comfortably in the fingers of his other. Shizuo’s tongue darks out to lick a stripe along the back of his hand, and even though he doesn’t put on a show the way Izaya had, the sight of his tongue on his own skin makes Izaya’s breath come a little faster. Shizuo sprinkles his salt on as well, and then they’re staring each other down, ready to gulp down the golden liquid, and Izaya hasn’t felt so alive in a long time.

 

“Ready?” Izaya whispers.

 

Shizuo nods.

 

“To getting really fucking drunk with your worst enemy,” Izaya says, voice nonchalant, expression calm.

 

Shizuo scowls. “To getting really fucking drunk with your dumbass friend,” he bites out, cheeks already coloring with light embarrassment, and Izaya feels a thrill shoot down his spine at the words, a little surge of delight humming deep in his bones.

 

“Yeah. That,” Izaya says, clinking his glass to Shizuo’s. They tap the shot glasses on the bar, lick the salt off their wrists, and down the shots.

 

“Gah,” Shizuo says after he’s bitten into his lime and sucked the juice out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Izaya is still sucking his lime, and he pulls it from his mouth and licks his lips, grinning at Shizuo and delighting in the pleasant burn of the alcohol down his throat.

 

“Tequila was a good choice,” he says, watching Shizuo’s eyes track the movements of his tongue across his lips.

 

Shizuo doesn’t respond, just flags down the bartender and asks for four more shots.

 

“Four? My, Shizu-chan, you’re really going all out,” he teases, pulling out his wallet before Shizuo can and dropping the money onto the table as the bartender pours the shots. Shizuo scowls but doesn’t protest, and Izaya picks up a shot glass while the others are still being poured and licks his wrist again before sprinkling on the salt. Shizuo does the same and the bartender moves away, and then they down those shots and then the other two, staring each other down all the while and shivering with alcohol and lust.

 

Izaya licks lime juice off his fingers as lewdly as he dares in a crowded bar, and Shizuo’s eyes go darker still. The alcohol is already hitting him; three shots of tequila in such a short amount of time is reckless for both of them, and the fire in his veins is only growing as his eyes wander over messy blond hair, honey-gold eyes, the black t-shirt and jeans that have replaced Shizuo’s usual bartender getup, the long lines of Shizuo’s toned arms, narrow and lanky despite the strength Izaya knows rests in them.

 

“Fuck,” Shizuo says, swaying a little on his stool and grinning happily. Izaya smirks and lets drunkenness wash over him, reveling in the feeling of letting loose, of letting go, of knowing someone will be there to catch him when he does, or at least knowing someone will let go and fall beside him. Izaya smiles and flags the bartender down one more time, ordering them each a cocktail to sip on even if they’ve passed their limit on shots for the time being.

 

“You ever been this drunk before?” Shizuo asks, looking radiant even in the dim lighting of the bar.

 

Izaya nods and everything feels dizzy, but it’s still the pleasant disorientation of being just drunk enough, no nausea or headache to speak of. “Yeah, in high school a few times, and then after. With Shinra the first few times, and then later with him and Kadota and Celty. You?”

 

Shizuo grins. “Just a couple times. Once with Tom, once with Shinra and Celty and Kadota, too. And most recently with Kasuka.”

 

“What is Kasuka even like when he’s drunk?” Izaya asks, genuinely curious, and Shizuo lets out a drunken laugh.

 

“The same as always, god,” he says. “Honestly, the more interesting thing would be to see him high on ecstasy or something,” Shizuo laughs.

 

Izaya shrugs. “I’m sure he has access if he ever wants to try it.”

 

Shizuo shakes his head. “I’m sure he does, even if we don’t. After all, he’s been to America a couple times now. He won’t get in as much trouble there as he would if he got caught with it here.”

 

Izaya shakes his head. “We have access,” he says, not really a suggestion but maybe, just maybe, just a little bit.

 

Shizuo glances up at Izaya and sips the drink in front of him. “We have access to ecstasy,” he says, and it isn’t a question.

 

Izaya shrugs. “Yeah, I could get us some. If you ever wanted to try it.”

 

“‘Us.’” Shizuo quotes. “You want us to get high together?”

 

Izaya smirks. “I never said that. I just said that we could, if you wanted to. I’m sure the sex would be fantastic.” He leans in towards Shizuo, drunk enough now that he doesn’t care who sees, and look at that, the beast is actually making him sloppy. Of course it won’t do to have people seeing the yakuza’s best informant getting handsy with another man in a public bar. Izaya finds that he frankly doesn’t fucking care.

 

Shizuo shudders and Izaya revels in it, his blood singing. “It’s already pretty fucking fantastic, I-za-ya-kun,” Shizuo murmurs, drawing out his companion’s name so it’s languid and devastating. “Not convinced drugs will make it any better than it already is.”

 

Izaya shakes with the way Shizuo is eyeing him, both of them leaning precariously close to the other, alcohol thrumming through their veins all heady and hot. Izaya’s sure he’s never felt this way before, never felt so close to someone that he could read their every thought, as if they were one and the same, as if he were experiencing Shizuo’s pleasure as his own.

 

Izaya licks his lips. “We could go dancing,” he whispers, and isn’t that an image to think about—both of them high as fuck and dancing to a pounding beat and grinding in _and fuck, Shizuo, we’re in the middle of the dancefloor, fuck, fu-uck, ah—_

 

Shizuo is looking at Izaya with lust in his eyes, the same exact lust that’s roaring through Izaya, and they both lean in at the same time, foreheads knocking together as they both try really fucking hard not to just go for it right there at the bar.

 

“Come on,” Shizuo finally manages, locking a tight grip around Izaya’s wrist and pulling him off the stool and out the door, both of them bursting out into the cool night air and stumbling down the sidewalk towards Izaya’s apartment, the closer of their two homes. It hasn’t even been a block before Shizuo is dragging Izaya into a dark alley, the space deserted save for a couple of dumpsters and a broken-down fire escape, a safe place for Izaya to let Shizuo press him into the wall and kiss him, strong hands gripping tight at Izaya’s hips and Shizuo’s careless mouth practically swallowing him whole, both of them groaning and grasping for purchase at the other’s body.

 

Izaya tips his head back to give Shizuo access to his neck, to his earlobe, to all the places he wants the blond to lick and suck the same way he’d sucked salt and lime juice off his own hands earlier in the evening. He moans and widens his stance, letting Shizuo’s thigh fall in between his open legs, and Shizuo grins and licks into Izaya’s mouth, and then wraps his arms around the informant and presses in even closer so Izaya is fully caged between the wall behind him and the warmth that is Shizuo.

 

“Fuck,” Shizuo says when they break apart, suddenly grinning and running a hand through Izaya’s hair. “You look—fucking—fuck.”

 

Izaya is almost too breathless to speak, but he manages a nod and tries to lighten his grip at Shizuo’s shoulders, the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. He can feel his mouth quirking in an involuntary smile to match Shizuo’s, and he doesn’t even try to fight it.

 

“See? Alcohol is a drug—drugs do make it better,” Izaya says, smirking.

 

Shizuo shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, looking confident and stunning in the light from the moon filtering down into the alley. “Nah, it’s like this every time.”

 

There’s a pause where they absolutely don’t stare at each other longingly and romantically and sentimentally and all those other stupid words that do not apply to them. And then: “Take me home, Izaya-kun,” Shizuo teases. Izaya can only nod and push himself off the wall, both of them leaning on each other as they move out of the alley and down the street, giggling like schoolgirls and exchanging glances as they make their way to Izaya’s home.

 

Inside Izaya’s apartment, they stumble over each other trying to remove their shoes, and they’re still laughing even though Izaya is starting to feel the dizziness as something unpleasant now, something that threatens nausea and definitely a headache tonight and probably tomorrow, and he can tell Shizuo is feeling it too by the way he moves slowly as he steps out of his shoes and into Izaya’s too-posh living room.

 

“Come on,” Izaya says, the room spinning in earnest now as he takes Shizuo by the hand and leads him up the stairs and into the bedroom, the soft mattress looking more inviting than ever even though Izaya knows with certainty now that all that talk of lust and sex will only be talk tonight because, yeah, they’re really fucking drunk.

 

“The mixed drinks were a mistake,” Shizuo groans from behind Izaya, and the informant nods agreement and then regrets it immediately when the motion makes nausea start to well up in his throat.

 

“Shower?” He says after he manages to swallow down the dizziness and the nausea, and Shizuo hums and moves tentatively into the bathroom connected to Izaya’s master suite.

 

They strip out of their clothes perfunctorily, all traces of lust gone as the tequila gets the best of them. Izaya still feels drunk, still feels like he could start giggling at anything if he didn’t feel quite so dizzy, and Shizuo obviously feels the same way because he trips a little getting out of his pants and a peal of laughter escapes his throat, cut short when Shizuo covers his mouth and swallows hard, definitely keeping down vomit.

 

“You’ll feel better if you throw up,” Izaya says as he turns on the water, the multiple showerheads pouring limitless warm water into the overly large space that is Izaya’s fucking awesome shower.

 

Shizuo swallows again and steps out of his boxers, his focus too wrapped up in the task of remaining upright to actually answer. The informant steps under the water and sighs, his dizziness partly forgotten as he luxuriates in the sensation of the water pouring onto his head and shoulders.

 

“Yeah, probably,” Shizuo finally acknowledges as he climbs in, shutting the glass door behind him and sitting down as soon as he’s under the water. Izaya grabs the shampoo and conditioner before sitting down next to him, both of them leaning against the wall next to each other and letting hot water rush over them.

 

“Fuck,” Izaya says when the nausea grows again, this time way too forceful to swallow down, “Fuck, I’m gonna puke.” He’s moving to get up, hoping he’ll make it to the toilet on time, but Shizuo puts a tired hand on his shoulder and holds him in place.

 

“Just do it here,” Shizuo suggests, and yeah, Izaya has to now, and he shudders as all the alcohol he’s imbibed comes back up onto the shower floor and swirls down the drain, Shizuo’s hands stroking comfort down his neck and shoulders. It has to be gross to watch, Izaya thinks, but Shizuo just runs his fingers up and down Izaya’s back, keeping Izaya calm despite his discomfort, and finally the heaving stops and Izaya feels _god_ so much better already, even with Shizuo next to him observing the whole thing and keeping him calm with the kind of gentle touches that are supposed to be rare between the two of them. Izaya spits a couple of times and lets the water rush into his mouth, swishing it around and then spitting that on the shower floor too.

 

“Here, let me wash your hair,” Shizuo murmurs, and Izaya closes his eyes and tries to get his breathing back to normal as Shizuo massages suds through dark strands and calms the wreckage of Izaya’s head with fingers firm yet gentle, the sensation utterly devastating in Izaya’s current state. He lets out a little whimper and relaxes into the caress, letting the hot water wash away all his discomfort and feeling like he never wants to get out.

 

The shampoo rinses out quickly and Shizuo’s hands fall away, and when Izaya turns to look at Shizuo, it’s startling how pale he is, how sick he looks and how disoriented, and all Izaya wants is to somehow make Shizuo feel a little better. It’s just guilt, he tells himself, guilt because he knows he was the one who suggested shots in the first place. He doesn’t actually care about Shizuo’s well-being. Obviously. But still, he should do something to make Shizuo feel better, right?

 

“Stop resisting,” Izaya says, voice a gentle whisper so as not to aggravate Shizuo’s discomfort. “I just puked all over the floor of my shower in front of you. You can throw up in my shower too and I’m not going to kick you out or something. And I’ll still want to sleep with you when we’re not so fucking drunk,” Izaya says, and it’s the truth.

 

Shizuo manages to shake his head. “I can’t, I guess. I mean, I feel sick, but not enough to throw up.”

 

Izaya’s still mostly drunk brain speaks for him before he can shut himself up. “Fingers down your throat.”

 

Shizuo’s head jerks up to force eye contact between the two of them. He doesn’t ask the question, doesn’t ask why Izaya would suggest that or why it sounds so nonchalant, like something Izaya has definitely done before, and it is something Izaya has done before even when he wasn’t drunk, and now is definitely not the time to have this conversation but it doesn’t seem to matter, because some new understanding has passed between them and they can’t go back. Even worse, Izaya doesn’t really want to.

 

“Later,” Izaya says, voice soft and gentle to quell the concern coloring Shizuo’s still-pale face. “Just—you’ll feel better. I won’t judge.”

 

“Would be a little hypocritical,” Shizuo mutters, turning his face away and staring at the shower floor like it’ll give him some answers about the person sitting next to him on the floor of a ridiculous shower, both of them still pretty fucking drunk and acting like they might actually like each other.

 

Izaya doesn’t respond, just strokes a hand down Shizuo’s spine and leans his head down against Shizuo’s strong, muscled shoulder. “I’m right here. It’ll suck, but it’ll make tomorrow suck a lot less. And like I said—I’m right here.”

 

Izaya feels Shizuo take a deep breath and then let it out in a sigh. “Yeah. I guess.” He opens his mouth and stares down at two fingers, and then he turns his head to glance down at Izaya, who is still pressed up against his side with his head on the bigger man’s shoulder. “I—you’re sure?”

 

Izaya nods. “I’ll do it for you if you want,” he says, straightening off Shizuo’s shoulder to meet his eyes.

 

Shizuo shakes his head and looks like he regrets the movement. “Nah, I’ll do it,” he says, turning away from Izaya to open his mouth and stick his fingers down his throat.

 

It isn’t pretty, watching Shizuo gag and gag and then finally heave, throwing up alcohol and emptying his stomach of part of his dinner, too, and Izaya just closes his eyes so he doesn’t get nauseated again and strokes comforting caresses down Shizuo’s back, leaning into the beast and holding him while he empties his stomach onto Izaya’s shower floor.

 

“That was gross,” Shizuo says after he’s finally done throwing up, the last traces of vomit swirling down the drain and away, Izaya finally able to open his eyes.

 

Izaya chuckles. “Yeah. But don’t you feel better?”

 

Shizuo nods, and the motion doesn’t seem to make him feel so sick anymore. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He lets water fall into his mouth and swishes it the way Izaya had earlier, spitting it out and then actually drinking some. They’re both silent for a minute, still reveling in the cascade of hot water pouring over them, and then Izaya picks up the shampoo bottle without any prompting and starts massaging the gel into Shizuo’s hair. Shizuo lets out a noise of contentment and tips his head back so Izaya can reach all of it.

 

“Look at us,” Shizuo says after he’s rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and picked up the bottle of conditioner. “We’re a fucking pair, aren’t we.” It doesn’t sound like a question.

 

Izaya grins, still a little dizzier than he’d like to be, and still definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol that did make it into his veins instead of ending up on the floor of the shower, because he pushes Shizuo’s head out of the stream of water to rub conditioner into it and spike most of it up into a Mohawk.

 

“What are you doing?” Shizuo laughs, his energy back a little bit now that he’s also devoid of most of the alcohol, and Izaya grins.

 

“Fixing your hair,” he says, feeling tired and ready for bed, and yet content to stay here in his shower with Shizu-chan, both of them dizzy and drunk and happy in each other’s presence. Izaya finishes his work with the blond strands and leans back a bit to admire it, and Shizuo leans forward into the stream of water to press his mouth to Izaya’s and kiss him senseless as the water rinses the conditioner out of his now-flattened hair. They both definitely taste terrible, but there’s something in the intimacy of it that tastes really fucking good, and Izaya sighs contentment and runs his hands through Shizuo’s hair, feeling it go soft and clean in his hands, and pulling away to study the look on Shizuo’s face as they sit together in the shower, drunk and definitely not in love. That would be ridiculous.

 

“Come on,” Izaya finally says, after the hard floor of the shower starts to hurt his tailbone. He stands and offers a hand to Shizuo, pulling the other to his feet and shutting off the water. They climb out and retrieve towels from the rack on the wall, both of them unsteady on their feet and still dizzy and giggly, and they dry off and walk out of the bathroom, leaving their towels and clothes a mess on the floor that can be picked up tomorrow, if they actually make it out of bed. Izaya pulls on a pair of boxers from one of his drawers and throws another pair to Shizuo, one of the pairs he bought specially in the beast’s size in case he ever stayed over, and Shizuo holds them up and looks perplexed when he sees they’re going to fit because Izaya normally doesn’t go out of his way to accommodate other people.

 

“Just put them on,” Izaya suggests, pulling back the blankets. He snuggles down into them and savors the comfort of being all wrapped up in a warm cocoon, and Shizuo pulls on the underwear without complaint and gets under the covers, not even questioning the way Izaya has left room for him on the left side of the bed just the way he likes to sleep at his house, between Izaya and the door just in case someone were to come in and threaten them in the night or something utterly ridiculous which Izaya knows will never actually happen and even if it does, he’s perfectly capable of dealing with it himself, thank you very goddamn much, Shizu-chan.

 

“Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” Shizuo murmurs as he slides under the bedding and reaches out for Izaya’s smaller frame, as if it’s a given that they’ll sleep curled up together, in a pose reserved for real couples who really fucking like each other and probably really fucking love each other and who get really fucking drunk and puke together in the shower and it’s no big deal, just an extension of existing intimacy that won’t ever be questioned or overthought or even talked about, because it’s doesn’t need to be, and it’s not a big deal, it just is. Izaya shakes with the thought and moves closer, trying not to question it or overthink it or talk about it, just pressing his pounding, dizzy head into Shizuo’s shoulder and sighing out a breath as their arms drape around each other and their legs tangle close.

 

“Yeah, it’s really gonna suck for you, because I’m kicking you out as soon as you’ve slept enough that you’re not drunk anymore,” Izaya says, his left arm resting across Shizuo’s chest at an angle that lets Shizuo’s right hand come up and lace their fingers together.

 

“Why not just kick me out now if you’re not going to let me stay through the hangover?” Shizuo asks, the vibrations of his voice shivering through Izaya’s chest and making Izaya press in even closer, nuzzling his nose in against Shizuo’s throat. “Worried I won’t make it home if I try to stumble all the way back Ikebukuro drunk off my ass?”

 

Izaya sighs and hums a note of tired acceptance. “Something like that,” he allows, squeezing at Shizuo’s fingers and letting his mouth slip into a grin that presses against Shizuo’s collarbone. “I mean, it was my idea for us worst enemies to get really fucking drunk together.”

 

The arm resting around Izaya’s waist tightens a little. “I thought I revised that to be ‘dumbass friends,’” Shizuo reminds him, voice slurring with alcohol and exhaustion alike.

 

Izaya hums his assent. “Yeah, that.” He pauses a moment, then, to think through what he’s going to say next, even though he knows that it will be said, that it’s inevitable at this point, that it was inevitable from the start. “I guess I can let you stay until you’re not so hungover tomorrow. But only until then,” he murmurs, so tired and really asleep enough that he’s hardly even sure what he’s saying. “Like, noon at the latest. Or maybe one or two.”

 

“Good to know you care, ‘Zaya,” Shizuo murmurs, pressing a sudden kiss to the still-damp hair at Izaya’s forehead. “Can I stay until three, maybe?”

 

Izaya finds himself nodding, the world slipping away as he dissolves into the dark peace of sleep. “Yeah. Yeah, you can stay a little longer.” And then everything is a haze of warmth and peace, and Izaya slips under with a sigh and brush a lips against Shizuo’s skin. He sleeps better than he has in ages.

 

Since the last time he stayed at Shizu-chan’s house, a voice echoes in the back of his mind, but Izaya just ignores it and lets himself dream.


End file.
